Dan stands slowly from his seat, his expression grave. He rests his hands flat on the polished wood, his gaze sweeping across every face gathered around the table.
“One thing is certain,” he says quietly. “That woman—the one found dead—served Lord Calvin. She was one of his most trusted, most powerful followers.”
Rose nods slowly. She remembers the way the woman moved, the cold authority in her voice, the crest she wore. There is no doubt in her mind.
Jared folds his arms tight across his chest. “Which means Lord Calvin will eventually learn she is dead. And when he does…”
No one needs to finish the sentence. Everyone understands. The moment Lord Calvin discovers one of his elite has been killed on foreign soil—within Mountain High City—questions will follow. Sharp, angry, unavoidable questions. Then accusations. Then demands. And eventually…
War.
The room falls silent. The possibility hangs between them, heavy and terrifying. A single death could ignite a conflict that would burn through both academies, through the city, through every living thing caught in its path.
In the quiet pause, Rose realizes something: no one asks her where she spent the previous night. No one presses her about the Majestic Academy student who brought her home. Jared’s glare at the gate remains unspoken, kept private between them. For now, she is spared the interrogation she half‑expects.
Later that night, Rose sits alone on the edge of her bed, the room dim and quiet. Sleep refuses to come. Her mind turns in endless circles: the body, the power that killed it, Lord Calvin’s reach, the prophecy drawing near. And always, returning to the same name: Andrei.
Her phone vibrates softly against the nightstand. She picks it up. A message.
Andrei.
Are you okay?
Rose stares at the screen. After everything that happened—the investigation, the dead student, the looming threat of war—that is his first question. Not about the evidence. Not about Lord Calvin. Not about what she knows.
Just her.
She types slowly. I’m okay.
The reply arrives almost instantly. Good.
Rose shakes her head, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. Then she writes: Thank you. For today. For… everything.
This time the reply takes longer. Minutes stretch out. She wonders if he has fallen asleep, if he regrets messaging her at all. Then the screen lights up.
You don’t have to keep thanking me.
Rose stares at those words for a long time, the glow of the phone illuminating her face. Then she types, soft and sure: Maybe I do.
For several moments, neither sends another message. The typing indicator appears, vanishes, appears again—and disappears once more. Neither knows what to say next. And somehow… that silence feels heavier, more meaningful, than any conversation they could ever have.
Across the city, inside Majestic Academy’s highest tower, another meeting unfolds. Harold Wang stands at the head of a long conference table, his expression unreadable. Andrei sits to his left. Zyber beside him. Several senior council members fill the remaining seats, their faces tight with concern. The atmosphere is thick, grim, charged with quiet dread.
“The woman is dead.” Harold’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade. “One of Lord Calvin’s own. Killed here. In our city. And he will find out.”
No one disagrees. No one dares.
Harold shifts his gaze directly to Andrei. “Tell me plainly. Do the Zhao have anything to do with it?”
Andrei answers immediately, without hesitation. “No.”
The absolute certainty in his voice surprises several people in the room. Harold blinks, leaning forward slightly.
“You are certain.”
“I am.” Andrei meets his father’s gaze steadily, unflinching. “She was not there. And even if she had been… she would not have left that signature. It was not her work.”
Harold studies his son carefully, searching for any crack in that confidence. Andrei does not look away. At last, Harold sighs and leans back in his chair.
“Then we have another problem.”
Zyber nods slowly. “A larger one.”
Harold glances around the table. “If even the Zhao clan did not do it—then someone else killed one of Lord Calvin’s strongest followers. Someone powerful enough to leave no trace. Someone hiding right here inside Mountain High City. And whoever they are… they are framing the Zhao, which could mean, we have a chance to throw a punch.. But on second thought, we’ll all be in danger, not only the Zhao clan, but everyone in Mountain High City.”
A murmur ripples through the room.
“Which means danger,” Harold continues, his voice dropping low and dangerous. “Not only to the killer. To this entire city. When Lord Calvin comes—and he will come—he will not care who is guilty. He will demand payment. And he will take it from whoever stands in his way.”
Near midnight, Harold stands alone by his office window, looking down at the endless sprawl of city lights. Normally they bring him comfort—a reminder of all he controls. Tonight they bring only unease. Too many strange events are unfolding all at once. The eclipse approaching. The impossible corpse. Lord Calvin’s elite roaming the streets. The attacks closing in. Dream University standing silent and guarded.
And…a name crossed his mind.
Rose Zhao.
Everything seems to connect to her. Yet every answer leads only to more questions. He cannot prove she is guilty. He cannot prove she is innocent. The truth remains frustratingly, dangerously out of reach.
Harold narrows his eyes. A storm is coming. He can feel it gathering strength, dark and inevitable. The only question that remains is: when the storm finally breaks… who will still be standing?
Far beyond the city, deep within a mountain stronghold hidden from mortal eyes, two figures kneel before a shadowed throne. The twins. Their heads are bowed low, their foreheads nearly touching the cold stone floor. Before them stands a figure tall and still, wrapped in darkness that seems to swallow the light itself.
The twins remain silent. Neither dares speak first.
At last, the figure speaks. His voice is calm. Far too calm.
“She is dead.”
Twin One swallows hard. Twin Two stares fixed at the floor, trembling.
The figure slowly turns. Within the shadows, two eyes glow—burning crimson, bright and terrible.
“Someone killed my servant.” The voice drops, cold and sharp as ice. “Find out who did this. Bring them to me. And if you cannot bring them alive… bring me their head.”
The air in the room seems to tremble.
The twins bow lower, pressing themselves to the ground. “Yes, my lord. At once.”
They understand exactly what failure means. And as they rise and hurry away into the dark, they carry with them a terrifying realization: Lord Calvin has not only turned his attention toward Rose Zhao. He has decided she is responsible.
And somewhere deep within Mountain High City, entirely unaware that the most feared vampire in the region has already marked her for death… Rose sleeps at last.
The following morning, Rose wakes late, heavy‑eyed and exhausted. She has barely slept. Too many thoughts have turned through her mind through the long night: the corpse and its impossible signature, Lord Calvin’s looming wrath, the twins still watching from shadow, and Andrei—his quiet concern, his steady messages, the way he stands between her and danger without ever asking for anything in return.
Before she can think further, her phone vibrates. She picks it up.
Andrei.
Good morning.
Rose stares at those two simple words for several seconds before replying. Good morning.
The reply comes almost instantly. Feeling better?
Rose hesitates. She thinks of the threats closing in, the secrets she keeps, the war drawing nearer. Then she types honestly. A little.
The typing indicator appears. Disappears. Appears again. Vanishes. Then finally: Good.
Rose laughs softly, despite everything. For someone who can fight elite vampires without hesitation, who faces death with steady hands… he seems surprisingly, endearingly awkward when it comes to simple conversations.